The Vegas Male Thong
As a resident of Vegas, let me tell you: Vegas loves nothing more than to put dicks into thongs. Hello, gift-wrapped cock. Hello, unpeeled banana. Shall I sing to you the ballad of the thong while a thong-string plucks away in the distance between the open-back resonator of distant buttocks? (Hint: I shall).
The thong is a reminder ribbon tied around the dick: Do not forget! To fuck me!
The thong is the outlined map of the cock and balls, the topography of the land with one national language: Fucking Spoken Here.
The thong is a straitjacket to help prevent the dick from going crazy. Dick, when I take this off I know that you are going to lose your mind.
Thonged dick, like a sea turtle stuck in a longline fishing net, your prowess is wrongly held captive. I wish to free you. Wriggle out, nimble meat tube! Fuck me so that I may go trawling for other dick in the sea!
The thong is like a drag racing parachute that has opened to slow down the dick on its journey to pussy. If it weren’t for its hesitant caution, there might be fire.
Thong, you are a silky cocoon that will one day burst open to help a boner take flight.
Behold: the Male Power Sheer Bong Thong 442-07.
There are even thongs with cock rings. With this ring, I thee fuck. I promise to be faithful and true until I cum. I promise to comfort and keep you, if comfort means hopping up and down upon your purple little head until it grows violet.
Yes, summer approaches. There is nothing like lowering a thong that has been moistened with sweat, then peeling apart the various sandwich pieces of the dick-and-scrotum-melt. Extra mayo, please. If you listen closely, you will hear the sound of plastic cling wrap. That’s right, the thong has kept these treats locked in fresh for your pleasure.